Don't Stop the Music
by Need2Scream
Summary: "He found his way over to the mech and flashed him a smile. Dark blue optics looked him over and a slow smile spread across his face. They fell into rhythm together and it was like they'd always been dancing together."
1. Chapter 1

Heavy bass beats could be heard on the street. The dark club was lit sporadically by multicolored lights. Bodies moved in tandem, armor freshly polished and shining in the quick flashes of light. He'd saved up for a vorn for this trip to Praxus. For his last night he was going all out.

Swaggering up to the bar he flashed the mech pouring drinks a smile and pressed his hand to the ID scanner in front of him. It beeped once and flashed green. His delight about sent him to the dance floor before he got his drink. It was _finally_ his spark orn and he was cleared to slag his systems with high grade. And if there was going to be a war he wanted to make sure he got in all the fun he could while he could. "What you drinkin', handsome?" the barmech asked.

"Whatever is gonna get me the most fun," he answered, yelling over the music. The barmech laughed and put a glass on the bar. He pulled two bottles from the shelf behind him and poured both at the same time filling the glass to the brim. The high grade mixed to purple and sparked like lightning. And it looked like a _lot_ of fun.

Tossing it back like he almost fell over. The high grade popped and buzzed and sparked along his glossa and down his throat all the way to his abdere. He coughed a couple times but the sparks stayed and he laughed. He probably shouldn't have done that so fast. "Want another?" the barmech asked with a knowing smirk. He nodded and pushed his glass back.

He knew what to expect with the second drink but that didn't make the popping and fizzing any less intense. The room felt a little off kilter when he pushed away from the bar but the colors seemed brighter, the bass heavier. He couldn't resist the pull of the dancefloor anymore. Staggering a little he found his way down a few short steps and pushed through a throng of bodies as another song started.

The room spun with him as he danced, the lights leaving streaks of color as he twirled around the others. He didn't think, just let his body find the beat and gave in. Sparks still danced on his glossa and his frame felt warmer than usual. The floor tilted and rocked under his feet as he moved but there were enough bodies around him he didn't fall.

A streak of silver caught his optic, closer to the edge of the dance floor. The lights flicked in time with the beat and he saw the flash again. A wider space around a mech with wings that caught the light and threw it back on the dancefloor. Black and white armor camouflaged him in both the darkness and the light. But there was no overlooking the way he moved, like music personified. He didn't move with the beat, he _was_ the beat and everyone around him just looked clunky and out of sync.

He found his way over to the mech and flashed him a smile. Dark blue optics looked him over and a slow smile spread across his face. The fell into rhythm together and it was like they'd always been dancing together.

Lights flashed and blurred past his optics, he couldn't tell anymore if he was feeling the beat or his spark pulse. The floor dipped and rolled, the room continued to spin with him and he tasted sparks. He mirrored the sinuous slide of the black and white frame in front of him. He couldn't remember getting so close to the mech but between one blink and the next they were chest to chest and he was looking up into the slightly taller mech's dark optics. Hands brushed across his hips and he felt the same sparks on his exoform that he had popping in his mouth.

He blinked again and wings blocked the light, a hot frame pressed against his, one hand clutched the mech's hip, the other wrapped around his neck bringing his head down. Sparks skipped where their mouths met. Their sparks beat in sync. He felt the beat, he _was_ the beat and no one but the mech in his arms could match him.

Cool night air hit his frame but the beat still thrummed through him, sparks dancing in his mouth and on his hip where the mech touched him. Streetlights and starlight blurred together as the sidewalk shimmied under his feet. The music faded but didn't disappear, he could feel the beat pounding in his spark and felt it in the body pressed against his.

The music came back, sparks on his glossa as limbs tangled together. Wings wrapped around him glittering like starlight and club lights. Sparks sizzled on his lips where they pressed against exoform. Armor fell to the floor and they restarted their dance.

They found the beat, they _were_ the beat.

 **oOo**

A loud knock on the door startled him mostly awake. Between the noise and his light sensitive optics a processor ache pounced on him and he groaned. "Checkout was twenty breems ago!" a gruff voice yelled. Rubbing his optics he pushed himself up squinting against the light and looking around the unfamiliar room. His armor was stacked neatly on the nightstand but there was no sign of anyone else.

Everything felt oddly…quiet. He remembered a black and white frame moving against his. His fingers reached up and brushed against his lips where he'd felt sparks dancing all night. There was nothing there now. Rubbing his optics he untangled himself from the sheets and tossed them aside. A flash of light, like starlight caught his attention. A silver feather. Picking it up he convinced himself he imagined the sparks tingling his fingertips and the faint thread of music in his audio.

Another loud knock and he rubbed his optics again. "I hear ya', gimme two breems," he yelled back. Snapping his armor back into place he looked around the small room but aside from the feather there was no trace of the mech he'd danced with.

He might have convinced himself he made the whole thing up but with the exception of his late checkout fee, the room was paid for. Ducking his head against the bright orn light he made his way a transit station, a silver feather that felt like sparks and sounded like music tucked in his subspace.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** __Rihanna's _Don't Stop the Music_ 100% inspired this one. I think I should've done a series of these things called Missed Connections or something. Ah well, you'll just have to enjoy as I get them done. Still working on my longer stuff, promise! I've been sidetracked by original stuff and Life.

And Ratchet's being a total aft and won't talk to me. *pokes* *ducks wrench*


	2. Chapter 2

Jazz leaned his head back against the wall of the ambassador's office. He could still spare more than enough attention to keep the Prime safe, but he'd gotten back as the Prime's ship was taking off. They'd almost been late because Jazz had gotten held up with his last target being wilier than he anticipated. So scratched and dinged and in need of a change of armor he stood in a lavish office with two Praxian guards. The guards were well trained, didn't flick an optic when he came in behind the Prime of Iacon and leader of the Autobot resistance.

He didn't think Praxus would ally with them, had told the Prime as much, but the Prime was Pit-bent on talking to the ambassador. So Jazz stared at the ceiling painted a soft blue to mimic the sky and fantasized about a long hot bath. He'd thought the ceiling was a little over the top until he saw the Praxian guards subtly shift their wings. The soaring ceilings made even the Prime look small but for a frametype with wings even this massive room would feel constricting. Simfur marble, pale emerald green, outlined the room while delicate mosaics of Vosian glass swept up the pillars catching the light and throwing speckles of blue, red, gold, and green across the room. It reminded him of the old orns at the club. His fingers tapped against the wall in time with his spark. He couldn't think of a song to go with it though and stopped after a few seconds.

At the same time, Jazz's enhanced audios and the Praxians' naturally acute sensors picked up the heavy vibrations of the Prime's footsteps. Jazz pushed off the wall wishing he would've brought some audio files. He'd have to swipe some of Blaster's when they got back. The Praxians shifted their wings but didn't otherwise move.

Jazz canted his head when the Prime exited the office. _You were right_ , the Prime said ruefully though his face was kept carefully blank. _Praxus will not ally with us. Megatron's attack has weakened them severely, they fear they will not survive another._ Jazz understood, he'd been right there in the tac room as the battle unfolded with Autobots too far away to assist with anything but clean up. Six kels out they were still tallying their losses.

The young ambassador stopped next to his guards and their wings brushed. The brief contact intrigued Jazz. Winged frames were too conscious of their wings for it to be an accident so the ambassador had done it intentionally. "Prime," the ambassador said softly. Optimus turned and gave him his full attention. "I cannot formally ally Praxus with the Autobots," he said, "but I know of one who will help without getting politics tangled with it."

Jazz didn't think any one mech was going to do much against the Decepticon war machine, but another soldier was another soldier. The Prime dipped his head. "Thank you, Ambassador, we welcome any who wish to help preserve the freedom of our species and all others."

"He will find you before you depart," the ambassador said. His wings brushed against the guards' again and his optics paled a shade before he blinked and they were normal once more. Jazz looked the young ambassador over with more care. He'd spent more time scouting the room on arrival than the ambassador, but he saw now on the mech's bare arms the welds and healing burns. The guards spread their wings a fraction, overlapping his and probably giving him a balancing point. Megatron hadn't spared anyone in the attack. Jazz didn't comment on it but followed the Prime out hoping the ambassador recovered.

"How's this mech supposed to find us?" Jazz asked once they were on the scarred street. Rebuilding was slow and painful for all of Praxus. They walked in the street to avoid rubble from a downed building.

The Prime had a frown on his face as he walked and thought. "I don't know. But if he doesn't appear we'll have to reschedule. You need to see a medic." They passed a park where Praxians were busy sawing downed trees into more manageable pieces. No one paid much attention to them and Jazz noted four of those working had wounds similar to their young ambassador.

Approaching a crossroad Jazz honed in on a Praxian not acting like the others. Silver wings caught shards of sunlight but he wasn't working or walking. He didn't move to meet them but it was clear from how he watched them he was waiting for them. "I think we found him," the Prime murmured.

"Or an assassin," Jazz said, a discreet knife slipping from an arm sheath into his fingers. On stark black and white armor a Praxian enforcer insignia was stenciled on his chest. Dark blue optics watched and assessed the Prime and Jazz as they closed the distance.

"Are you the non-political mech?" Jazz asked, privately asking the Prime to keep a few steps of distance. Those dark optics met his and his wings shifted catching the sunlight and throwing the white-gold light back at him. Memory hit Jazz hard enough to wind him. Bright lights, dark club, silver wings, black and white armor. He sucked in a hard breath and blinked to clear the memory.

"I am." That low melodic voice conjured more memories of starlight and darkness. The mech moved to close the distance between them. Fluid, sinuous, each footfall matched the pulse of Jazz's spark.

"Then we better be on our way," he said forgetting about the Prime, the war. He was a young adult again in a dark club with sparks on his glossa and a lithe body against his. He was more aware than ever of the heavy pulse of his spark. A faint thread of music played in his audios when the mech fell in step with them. Wings. The way his feathers settled and slid against each other was what made the delicate cascade of sound. Jazz's feet synched with the Praxian's and matched the pulse of his spark. Everything else felt…off, out of pace. Even the Prime, graceful as the big mech was, seemed to be half a step off the beat. Jazz pressed his glossa against the roof of his mouth and felt phantom high grade popping and fizzing.

 **oOo**

The moment their ship docked, the Prime was called away to deal with a supply line issue. Jazz motioned for the Praxian to follow him. "We can get you a room and figure out where you'll fit."

"I am trained as a tactical officer," the Praxian said softly. Jazz couldn't believe the other mech couldn't hear his spark thudding in time with his feet. They still walked in synch, Prowl's walk more like a stalking animal and Jazz with his usual swagger. More than one mech did a double take when they moved past.

Warm pleasure bubbled through Jazz's frame with every word the Praxian spoke. "Tac will be happy to hear that." He glanced at the Praxian perfectly in step with him, their feet moving to a beat only Jazz could hear. "You have any bags we need to pick up?" he asked as they turned down a hall with quarters.

The Praxian's frame didn't change, but his voice was heavy with exhaustion and sadness when he spoke. "No. There was nothing left." Jazz flinched before he could stop it. They walked without speaking, Jazz afraid of digging into anymore fresh wounds.

Pulling up the room assignment list he stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. "Prime might move you closer to Tac once you're settled, but this'll get you through the paperwork and orientation phase."

He stepped back so Prowl could walk in first and followed him. Tapping the light panel illuminated the small room. Without anything to add to the space it was cold and barren. Prowl didn't make any indication he felt that way. His wings shifted and the delicate melody he had heard even over the sound of dropship engines became a little louder.

"I know you," Jazz whispered, listening to the quiet music of the mech's wings and the heavy beat of his spark. Prowl turned, a question in his optics. Jazz walked all the way into the room and the door slid shut behind him. "We met at a club. We danced and…" And hadn't stopped. The beat, the music, it was there in the room with them now. They hadn't stopped dancing, not until the mech slipped away in the early joors of morning. Dark blue optics met his and a flicker of memory passed through them.

He reached up like he was going to touch Jazz's face but hesitated. Jazz tapped the lights dimming them enough he wouldn't be blinded and detached his visor. The Praxian blinked twice and stepped closer. Dark blue optics looked him over and a slow smile spread across his face. "I remember you," he said softly. "I think you were charged."

"I was way charged," Jazz laughed.

"Me too," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I was hoping I'd see you again," he added in a soft voice. "I think I went to that club every night for a kel, but you never came back."

Jazz looked at the wall and then the floor. "Yeah, I was just in town for a couple orns. I was celebrating my spark orn. I went back to Polyhex the next night." He had considered skipping his flight and going back to the club, but he'd glitched out at the last second and gotten on the transport.

"Prowl," he said into the quiet. "My name is Prowl."

"Jazz," he answered. "Still haven't found anyone that dances like you. Charged or not." Prowl's laugh caught and pain darkened his optics. Jazz didn't think, just reached for him and felt sparks where his fingers touched.

Prowl gave him another smile, this one heavy with grief and pain. "I lost so much. Is it strange that I'm glad I didn't lose you, too?" Jazz started to ask but Prowl's dark optics shimmered with fluid and he changed his question.

"Dance with me?" he murmured, lightly resting his other hand on Prowl's hip. Prowl blinked trying to bury the pain but it stayed close to the surface. He stepped closer to Jazz though, his hands brushing Jazz's armor. Jazz felt his spark pulse in his feet and moved with it. Prowl matched his beat and Jazz let everything go; anger, pain, fear. Because for the moment he had a mech in his arms that matched him step for step and beat for beat. Prowl's mouth met his and sparks danced across his glossa.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** _DJ Got Us Fallin' In Love_ is what inspired this chapter. It got a little heavier than intended, but it works. Thank you for Reading/Reviewing/Following/Favoriting!

Also, Ratchet is still an aft. *catches wrench* *throws it back*


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